


what's your definition of it?

by StrangerThanDiction



Category: Mamamoo
Genre: Experimental Style, F/F, Short Drabbles, everything's lowercase, that means it's artsy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-24
Updated: 2019-08-03
Packaged: 2019-11-05 01:58:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17909834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StrangerThanDiction/pseuds/StrangerThanDiction
Summary: Short Moonsun drabbles





	1. you were my paddle

there was nothing wrong with her, but she felt adrift. her body was a vessel and the world was the ocean that swept her away farther from one shore and towards another one.

but there was always another shore.

no matter if only a few people could understand who she really is. there was nothing wrong with her, but she couldn't tell anyone.

secrecy wasn't her strong suit. it made her body shudder with grief and rage, but she was patient. waiting until she reached that far off shore.

and she held onto her paddle, snuggled between her arms, breathing gently. 

at night it was the paddle, stiff as a board. it was comfort and guidance and love, embodied as wooden paddle.

in the morning it transformed into her sun, a shining beam of warmth and hope that broke through gray clouds and bitter cold.

_you were my paddle._

_that's a pretty weird dream. i don't know how i feel about being a paddle._

_...did you miss the moral?_

_your subconsciousness portrayed me as a paddle. that's weird._

she looks at her grin, the twin dimples beneath it. the crinkled eyes that looked back as they faced each other on the hotel's bed. 

_by 'weird' you mean 'profound'?_

_well. did you love that paddle?_

_with all my heart._

_that's all that matters, isn't it?_

_do you love the woman that dreamed you were a paddle?_

_..._

_hey hey! is that hesitation?_

_of course byul-ah. with all my wooden core byul-ah._

_i take it all back._


	2. a lonely road at midnight

your eyes formed crescents as we walked and your cheeks moved to make room for the way your mouth stretches with its laughter. i think i said something funny. 

but when i looked at you it doesn't matter what caused it, just that it happened.

the wind wrapped the dark tendrils of your hair around its fingers and toyed with them until you quit smiling to pick hair off of your lips. 

you huffed in your annoyance and i said something about protecting you from the wind just to wrap my arms around you and hold you close to me. you said that i was doing a good job and so we stayed like that.

nestled under a streetlight on a lonely road. 

no cars passed by to see us - two people, one large shadow cast across the pavement. it was just the warmth of your breath on my shoulder and the curl of your fingers in my sweater. my chin burrowed in your hair, my body a pillar for you to lean on.

and neither of us wanted to be the first to let go. there had never been a better problem i had faced.

i finally asked if we should finish our walk with the promise of hot tea at its end. you intertwined your hand in mine then and we went along the road. 

the wind quieted and the crickets chirped. our conversation flowing as their soft accompaniment.


	3. just once

she didn't say it.

 not once.

 

not when the rain cried its silver tears 

against the roof of the too small umbrella 

you covered her with

as the wetness puddled onto your shoulder.

 

not when the wind stabbed needles 

through your thin sweater

and you gave her your winter coat 

because she shivered.

 

you pour out your love to her

but she is the desert -

barren, vacant -

and it only sinks into the sand.

 

you've said it many times.

through your smiles and eyes,

through your time and kindness.

you even spoke it aloud.

 

just once.

the words spoken were hopeful

like a rainbow after the storm

or a child begging for candy.

 

and she smiled -

but the smile was sad

and she said she couldn't.

you asked her why but

 

she never said it.

not once.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i have been very unproductive this week, so i wrote a drabble to feel better about myself.


End file.
